Grave Survivors
by Jedi Buttercup
Summary: Nick Stokes isn't the only one who's ever awakened six feet underground. Ficlet series.
1. Grave Survivors

**Title**: Grave Survivors

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Category**: B:tVS/CSI

**Summary**: Nick Stokes isn't the only one who's ever awakened six feet underground. 1000 words.

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Spoilers**: Buffy post-"Bargaining" (6.1); CSI post-"Grave Danger" (5.24).

**Feedback**: It's the coin of the realm. 

**Notes**: This story is for the twistedshorts LJ challenge #4, "Out of Time", but I would have written it anyway, I think. The challenge was just convenient. In the aftermath of such a severe trauma, time would have much less meaning for Nick; he's apart from it, "out of time", still stuck dealing with those hours in the box while the world streams on around him.

* * *

_"We all have our time machines. Those that take us back are memories. Those that take us forward are dreams..."  
-Jeremy Irons, "The Time Machine" (2002)_

* * *

The day after Nick Stokes got home from the hospital he found thirty-seven messages on his voicemail. He disconnected the call without listening to them, took his phone off the hook, ate a little soup, and then went back to sleep. He'd tried the bed the night before, but after waking three times hyperventilating, caught in the grip of a flashback, he'd moved into the living room, grateful for its comfortably lumpy couch and large, light-filled windows.

A day later, he gathered up his courage and dialed in again. There were a couple of the usual sales calls early on, bracketing a short message from his brother left before all hell had broken loose, but there the illusion of normality ended. The rest were a deluge of family, friends, co-workers and reporters, each of them worrying, pitying, celebrating, sympathizing or questioning regarding his experiences in the glass coffin. He wasn't sure how to deal with most of them; he ended up deleting more than half of the messages after only a sentence or two, once he'd listened long enough to know who they were and why they'd called. He'd been reliving the events of that night enough as it was in his nightmares without listening to a dozen other people rehash it for him again and again.

Only two of the messages broke that pattern. The first contained a few terse words from Sam Braun; Nick puzzled over that one for a moment, and made a mental note to ask Catherine about it sometime later. The guy didn't seem like the type to call up his estranged illegitimate daughter's subordinates just because he'd seen their picture on the news; something else had to be going on there. The second was from a complete stranger. Nick almost thought she was another reporter or random well-wisher at first, his finger hovering over the delete key, but something in the tone of her voice caught his attention.

"Uh, hi," the message began. "You, uh, don't know me; but my name is Buffy Summers, and I saw what happened to you on TV. I just--I wanted you to know--you're not alone."

She laughed a little then, nervously. "I mean--I know you're not alone. You probably have lots of friends who were terrified for you while you were gone, who keep bringing you things and trying to make you feel better now that it's over, who... who keep telling you they know how awful it must have been. I saw your boss on the news, and some of your co-workers, talking about how everything ground to a halt while they looked for you; there's a lot of love there."

She paused and took a deep breath, then began again, her voice quieter, more serious. "But if you're anything like I was, you're ready to strangle them by now. Because they don't know. They can't, because they were on the outside. They weren't the ones who woke up in the dark, in a box so small you couldn't sit up, or turn over, or even move your arms and legs without knocking into the walls--"

Nick closed eyes his as her voice started to rise, breathing deeply, trying to stay calm. The ragged tone in her voice was uncomfortably familiar, filled with echoes of his own experiences; he didn't know how _she_ knew, didn't want to know how if it was anything like his story, but every word she said was true.

"I've been there," she continued. "The circumstances weren't the same, and I wasn't in the ground as long as you were, but I do know exactly how freaksome it is to be trapped like that, to be so scared that you scream and thrash and try to break the lid with your bare hands because you can't bear it one minute longer. And after you finally do get out, in some ways it feels like you never left."

The line went quiet again; the soft sounds of her stressed breathing merged with Nick's own as he held the phone, gripping it tightly enough to crack the case.

"Look," Ms. Summers' voice came on again, several seconds later. "I don't have any good advice to give you on how to deal with it, because I didn't. Deal with it, I mean. I pretty much spent a whole year doing crazy, stupid things, trying to erase what happened from my memories. I hope you don't have to go through that, but if you do, don't let anyone try to tell you you're wrong, or disturbed, or--anyway. I just thought--I thought it might help you to know you're not the only one."

She went silent again, and Nick started as the automated voice from the phone company came on, informing him of the date and time of her call. "Press seven to delete this message," it directed; "press eight-eight to return this call. Press two to save this message and continue to the next..."

Nick let his finger hover over the eight key for a moment, then shook his head and pressed two. He raised his free hand and swiped at his cheeks, grimacing at the tears on his face and the tremor in his muscles. He couldn't talk to her now; he doubted he could talk to anyone at the moment, as choked up as he was. It was still too raw to talk about, and maybe it always would be.

But on some level, he did feel a little better; the shit that he was going through wasn't unique, had been conquered by someone else who'd been just as terrified as he had. He was going to be OK. Everyone else had been telling him that for days--but now he almost felt as though he could believe them.

Time had stopped for him in that box, but someday it would start again, and he'd have his life back. He'd survived a crazy stalker; he could survive this, too.

(fin)


	2. Dear Ms Summers

**Title**: Dear Ms. Summers

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Category**: B:tVS, CSI

**Summary**: Nick Stokes has a penpal. 700 words.

**TtH 100 Prompt**: #75 - Ink

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Spoilers**: B:tVS post-"Chosen"; CSI through 6.10 "Still Life"

**Notes**: Set after my fic "Grave Survivors", written last May. There probably will be more stories set in this 'verse, eventually.

* * *

"Dear Ms. Summers..."

--

"Dear Buffy..."

--

"Hey, girl..."

--

"...My job took me underground today. You might have heard about the case on the news? I can't really talk about it while it's ongoing, but yeah. It wasn't all that closed in, really, you'd think since I don't even have trouble with elevators I would be fine, but I got claustrophobic anyway. Couldn't stop thinking about all that dirt over my head. Freaked me out, like when those bugs crawled on me on a case a few weeks ago. It made me feel a little ridiculous, like I should be past this already.

"I know, I know, it takes time. Have to get back on the horse and keep going. This isn't the first time I've been through a major trauma, I know the drill, I'm sure you do too. Still. It helps to have someone to talk to about all this who really understands..."

--

"...Tried the doing something different thing, like you suggested. Don't have much hair to cut off, though, and you wouldn't believe how ridiculous I'd look with it long, so I decided to grow a 'stache. Easier to get rid of than a tattoo if I decide I don't like it. I haven't made up my mind yet, though, whether I do like it or not; the guys in the office are giving me grief about it.

"What do you think? Seriously, give me your unbiased opinion-- I'm sticking a couple pictures in with this letter, a before and after kind of deal. I'd ask Catherine or Sara, except Sara would probably just say, 'Well it looks _different_,' and Catherine's been distracted lately... did I tell you Rick got married?..."

--

"...Yeah, things have been pretty awful around here the last week or so. I haven't seen any of the news coverage myself-- we've been pretty busy working the case, and the department's really torn up over it. The worst part's the way the neighborhood's reacting, it's like they'd rather the cops take the blame regardless of whether we were at fault. And there's other things going on with the case I can't talk about, that have us all pretty tense.

I appreciate the condolences, though. It helps to know _someone_ out there's still thinking positive thoughts about us. I'll try to write more next week..."

--

"...The pictures arrived just fine. Wow, I'm not sure whether to be more awestruck with the monuments in the background or the beautiful girls standing in front of them. I've been on a few trips with my family before, but never out of the States. How long are you and your sister going to be in Europe? I used up most of my vacation time this summer, but I'll have a few days coming up soon, and I remembered you said you had a friend living in the area. I guess I'm looking for an excuse not to fly down to Texas for the holidays; I've had about enough family smothering for one year.

"No pressure, though. Rick's already invited me to a party his wife's throwing, I can use that as an excuse to stick around Vegas. Which, speaking of, I took your advice about the 'lip ferret'. Jeez, I can't believe you actually called it that, crush a guy's ego why don't you? Rick laughed his ass off when I told him what you said. He'd been calling me 'Mustache Boy' for weeks.

"Anyway. You remember I told you about the guy who did it, how I visited his daughter in jail? I don't know why I went there, really, maybe I thought it would give me some sense of closure. She didn't really want to talk to me, but I told her not to take it with her when she got out. Well, she's out now. She showed up at one of my crime scenes, then stopped by the office a couple of days later to tell me she was thinking about what I said after all. I'm not sure whether I should feel hopeful I got through to her, or really creeped out that she's paying me all this attention..."

--

"...Sincerely, Nick Stokes"

--

"...Your Friend, Nick Stokes"

--

"...Love, Nick"

--

(fin)


	3. Raincheck

**Title**: Raincheck 

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Category**: B:tVS/CSI

**Summary**: Of all the days for things to go wrong, it had to be the day Buffy was flying in to meet him. 700 words.

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Spoilers**: B:tVS post-"Chosen"; CSI 6.21 "Rashomama".

**Notes**: Third in the "Grave Survivors" series.

* * *

Nick swore as he looked up at the break room clock. He'd almost forgotten, in the chaos of having his car stolen and being cooped up in the lab until IA could arrive, that he'd had other plans for the day. Thank goodness he hadn't left his cell phone in the car with all of the evidence from the scene. He scrubbed tiredly at his eyes, then fumbled for the phone and dialed a familiar number from memory.

"Nick?" a female voice answered on the other end. "Not that it's not great to hear from you already, but aren't you supposed to be asleep this time of day?"

He chuckled wearily. "Well, 'supposed to be' and 'is' are sometimes two different things, babe."

"You're not working a double, are you?" Her voice took on decidedly frosty tones. "Nick! You've known I was coming for _how long_? If you were planning to stand me up, you could have told me before I flew all the way out here!"

Nick winced. "No, no, it's not like that. Some idiot stole my car this morning, with all the evidence from our last case inside it. I was just stopping for breakfast with Sara and Greg on my way back, but now I'm stuck in the lab until IA shows up to take my statement."

"And how long's that going to take?" she asked warily.

He sighed. "I don't know, Buffy. Hours. All day?"

"Nick!" she exclaimed, frustrated.

"I know, I know," he said, soothingly. "I'm so sorry. Look, I already made reservations for the restaurant, and I had the tickets for this evening's show in my pocket. I'll have someone take them to the front desk and hold them for you. Your sister's with you, right? Take her and go without me. I'll take you out dancing tomorrow to make up for it."

"You promise?" she asked, petulantly.

"I promise," he reassured her. "I know a great club that the lab hasn't had to work a case at in forever, we'll have a great time."

"We'd better," she sniffed. Then, more softly, she asked, "You're going to be OK, though, right? I mean, they'll find your car, and you won't get in trouble or anything?"

He wasn't so sure about that; it hadn't really been his fault, but on such a high-profile case, if they couldn't solve it the higher-ups would be looking for someone to crucify and Nick was the likeliest target. Buffy really didn't need to hear all the details, though. She was in the state for some kind of business meeting and had taken a few extra days on her trip specifically to meet him. For all the calls, photos, and letters they'd exchanged so far, they'd still never seen each other in person. He didn't want to spoil it with irrelevant concerns about his career.

"I'll be fine," he said, calmly. "Have fun with Dawn, all right? I'll call you as soon as they release me."

They exchanged a few more words of parting, then ended the call. Nick stared at the cell phone in his hand for a few moments afterward, silently cursing the car thief, the victim, and IA for potentially ruining what was possibly the most important meeting of his life. They knew each other, but they didn't _know_ each other yet, and if she went into their first date already annoyed at him it could screw things up but good.

"So _that's_ why you cut your hair again," a teasing voice interrupted his musings, and Nick looked up to see Greg framed in the breakroom's doorway. "Your girlfriend's coming to visit."

"She's not my girlfriend, and you know it," Nick groused back. "She just happens to be passing through this week, and..."

"...Mysteriously also happens to be the whole reason you stopped trying to grow a mustache, according to Warrick," Greg said, grinning. "C'mon. Admit it!"

Nick rolled his eyes. "She isn't my girlfriend yet," he clarified. "And might never be."

"Oh, I'm sure it will all work out," Greg said, breezily.

"I wish I had your optimism, man," Nick groused. Then he nodded at the folder in Greg's had. "So. What have you got?"

--


	4. Closing the Distance

**Title**: Closing the Distance 

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Category**: B:tVS/CSI

**Summary**: _Something about Nick had kept Buffy writing and checking the caller ID every time her cell phone rang_. 1500 words.

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Spoilers**: B:tVS post-"Chosen"; CSI post-"Rashomama" (6.21).

**Notes**: For emony2. Fourth in the "Grave Survivors" series; from Buffy's POV, this time.

* * *

Buffy folded up Nick's most recent letter with a fond smile. Once upon a time, she'd believed that she'd never connect with a normal guy again; after the disaster that was Riley, it had seemed like the only non-evil, non-immortal man who ever spent much time with her was Xander, and there was far too much water under _that_ bridge for them to ever reach the level of easy comfort she'd been craving.

She'd thought that maybe Angel, after Spike-- but she'd lost him the previous year for good, when he had deliberately (idiot that he was) melted down the LA underground without letting her know what he was up to. Or even telling her that Spike wasn't of the dusty anymore, either, however temporary that had turned out to be. What was _with_ it with her exes and their misplaced desire to protect her by keeping away from her?

Buffy hadn't been thinking about her romantic failures, though, when she'd picked up the phone that first time to dial Nick Stokes' number. She'd seen the report about his friends finding him buried alive on the news, and instantly thought how awful it must have been for him. She still had nightmares about her own experience waking up in a coffin underground, and she'd been trapped there pretty briefly-- awake, at least-- by comparison. She'd wished more than once (in the silence of her own mind, where 'justice' demons couldn't hear her) that there'd been someone _human_ around who could have understood what she'd been going through-- and she'd wondered if Nick might be feeling the same way.

She hadn't really been expecting him to call back, though. He had family, friends, co-workers-- people who loved him-- to lean on, and she'd wondered if maybe it would be easier for him to reconnect on his own. If maybe her own failures that year had been just that, failures unique to her. But he _had_ called. They'd stuttered through an awkward conversation, during the course of which Buffy had given out her contact information, and several days later the first envelope had arrived with his return address on it.

She'd never had a long-term penpal before. She'd never really had time for it, back when it had been the fashionable thing in high school. She'd never much been into the long-distance dating scene, either; Angel had broken up with her before he left town, Riley had done the same, and when Spike had left for Africa their quasi-relationship had already crashed and burned. She'd never even tried the online dating scene; it just seemed-- weird-- to flirt long-distance with a guy she'd never met. What if he was a demon? Or lying? Or-- just not her type?

Something about Nick, though, had kept Buffy writing and checking the caller ID every time her cell phone rang. He was just so earnest, and open, and-- gentlemanly, was the only word for it-- that she couldn't help but respond. Strong, without being macho. Caring, without expectation of response. Sometimes she wondered if Riley might have turned out like him, if he'd ever grown out of his young, tough-guy self-centeredness; she'd seen the potential in him. Of course, Riley wasn't much older than she was, so the comparison wasn't exactly fair-- Nick was more like nine years her senior, and had more time and life-experience under his belt.

The age gap didn't seem to matter, though, when they spoke-- and it wasn't like she hadn't gone for much older men before. He listened to her complaints about trying to be the mom for a sister only five years her junior while putting them both through college; she listened when he called, shaken, after a grueling case in which he'd barely managed to find a kidnapped little girl in time to save her. What year they'd each been born in hadn't been a factor in such weighty matters as work, family, and the general unfairness that life threw at them.

Slowly, but surely, Buffy had found herself falling in love with him through the mail. Her brief relationship with the Immortal had fallen apart under the weight of it, when she'd compared the way she felt every time she received another phone call or letter from Nick with the way she felt when her Italian boyfriend arrived to pick her up for their dates. She was far too old to keep dating a guy just because he was already involved in the supernatural and did wondrous things to her body; there were other Slayers now, and if she wanted to go into semi-retirement with someone who could make her feel good about _herself_, then she _could_.

Provided, of course, that Nick believed her when she told him about her night job. And provided that they actually struck sparks in person. She wasn't going to say anything until those two hurdles were out of the way; she wanted to at least keep his friendship, even if the romance angle didn't work out. But every time they'd tried to arrange a time and place to meet, some crisis or other had come up at his job, or at hers--

Including yesterday. Fortunately, Buffy had built a few days' leeway into her plans this time, and the latest CSI disaster had only delayed Nick for twenty-four hours. He'd reassured her that the mess with his car being stolen with a bunch of evidence in it wouldn't get him in trouble, but she'd heard the worry in his voice; she'd been afraid she'd have to fly out again without ever getting to see him. Luckily, he'd been able to call her that evening, as promised, and set up a new time to meet.

Which was now. Or, almost now: Buffy checked her watch as she returned the letter she'd been rereading to the stack she'd brought, tied with a scarlet ribbon, in the bottom of her suitcase. She knew it was romance-novelly of her to collect them that way, but there was such an old-fashioned charm to their whole relationship, it made her feel girly and love-struck in a way she'd thought she'd left behind when Angel lost his soul. She only hoped that Nick felt the same way.

Twenty minutes to go. Buffy sighed impatiently, then glanced at her reflection in the mirror again. She'd gone through several changes of clothing in the last few hours, trying to pick the perfect outfit for their dinner-and-dancing date, from an "innocent" demure look complete with modest, concealing dress and barely-there makeup to an almost-Goth, dark, clinging look Faith would have been proud of. Finally, she'd given up and settled on something more comfortably her: brown leather pants, snug but not too tight, paired with a white blouse of daring neckline, high-heeled boots, and hair down loose and wavy over her shoulders. It wasn't like he hadn't seen pictures of her before-- but some nervous, quivery thing in the pit of her stomach made her want to look her best for him, now. Well, tough, she told herself: either he'd like her the way she was, or he wouldn't, and that would be that.

Dawn found the whole situation hilarious, of course. Over the last year she'd made a point of asking Buffy how her "boyfriend" was doing every time a new letter arrived, and even stole the phone once or twice when he'd called to make smart remarks at him; she called it her little-sisterly duty. Fortunately, Nick had five sisters of his own and seemed to take Dawn's good-natured hassling in stride. To be safe, though, Buffy had made sure to provide Dawn with fifty dollars of spending cash tonight and sent her down to their hotel's casino-- under the watchful eye of one of Lorne's contacts-- to "learn about the value of money". Buffy doubted she'd learn anything of the sort, but at least she'd be safely out of the way.

Impatiently, Buffy checked her watch again: ten minutes left. She reapplied her lipstick, sniffed gingerly at an armpit to make sure her nerves hadn't conquered her deodorant, then slipped her hotel key into a pocket and headed resolutely out of the room. Nick was supposed to meet her in the lobby, and she wanted to be there before him, so she could see him coming before he saw her. Just in case.

It looked like she hadn't been the only one with that idea, though. Buffy spotted him, waiting, as she came down the main stairs into the lobby; her pulse raced as her gaze met his, and a nervous tremor made her hand shake on the stair rail. He was holding a single yellow rose tipped with red-- the kind that meant friendship and "falling in love"-- and his wide, white smile was even more brilliant in person than it had been in pictures.

He was here. She was here.

Forget caution, she thought, smiling back at him: she was never, ever letting this one go.

--


	5. A Non Issue

**Title**: A Non-Issue

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: B:tVS, CSI. _Nick knew as well as any man that when a girl sat him down with an invitation to Talk it was rarely good news._ 1900 words.

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. All your Buffy are belong to Joss Whedon and your CSI to CBS and Anthony E. Zuiker.

**Spoilers**: B:tVS post-"Chosen"; CSI vaguely post-Season 6.

**Notes**: For jerseyfabulous, who requested B:tVS/CSI with Buffy/Nick. Fifth in the "Grave Survivors" series.

* * *

"So, you know how I've never told you exactly what it is I do for a living," Nick's girlfriend opened the conversation, wringing her hands in her lap.

He stared blankly at Buffy across the coffee table for a moment, caught between twin reactions of 'oh shit, it's time for _that_ conversation,' and 'thank God, _that's_ what she wants to talk about.' Nick knew as well as any man that when a girl sat him down with an invitation to Talk it was rarely good news, and he'd been fearing the worst. After all, they'd technically only met the month before, and had only been on a handful of actual dates; what if she'd decided they didn't suit as more than penpals after all?

While he was busy trying to keep either emotion-- terror or relief-- from showing up on his face, she furrowed her brow and wrung her hands a little more. "Okay, I expected a little more reaction than _that_," she said, sharply.

"Sorry," Nick shook his head, then leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. It made him a little uneasy to resort to using his behavioral science training on her, but despite their long correspondence they really _did_ have very little experience interpreting each other's body language, and she was looking pretty nervous. "Look, it's okay, you don't have to tell me," he said, soothingly.

Unfortunately, his girlfriend appeared to be as determined to keep him off-balance in this area as in every other. "I _don't_?" she asked, tone of voice rising as her eyebrows flew up. "What do you mean?"

Damn, he thought, wincing. He'd known all along that whatever her job was, there were major secrecy issues surrounding it, but having that actually confirmed was raising some scary possibilities. Still, he'd thought it all out long ago, and was pretty convinced of the conclusions he'd reached.

"I figured it had to be something that wouldn't bear up to public scrutiny," he forced himself to say calmly. "That's not all that unusual; there are a lot of companies and agencies that make their people sign non-disclosure agreements. But after I started receiving letters and phone calls from all over the world, Greg and Warrick had questions about you I couldn't answer, and they made jokes about tracking dates and locations to see what you'd been up to. Like if you'd left a trail of increased drug activity or bank robberies or any other major crimes behind you, and hey, in this day and age you never know, right?"

Buffy was looking more and more horrified the more he spoke, jaw dropping and thunderclouds building up behind her green eyes; he hurried to finish before she could decide to react prematurely. One thing he _did_ know, and definitely respected about her, was her temper and determination; a dangerous combination for anyone who pissed her off, despite her size. He did _not_ want to lose her over this, especially since she'd brought it up to start with.

"So I spent a weekend doing some research, not expecting to find anything-- but the funny thing is, I did. And it was pretty much the opposite of what the guys had been thinking. Reductions in murders, fewer inexplicable violent accidents, that kind of thing; and the drop in the death rate lasted weeks, if not months, in most places after your stay there."

That startled her, Nick could tell; her tense shoulders relaxed a little, and her expression softened. "It _did_?" she asked, and this time she sounded more like someone seeking affirmation than an angry woman looking for an excuse to knee him in the crotch.

"Yeah," he said, softly, keeping eye contact as he nodded confirmation. "It did. So like I said, you don't have to tell me. Whatever it is you do, I figure it's dangerous and necessary and probably way above my pay grade."

Not that the death rate was the _only_ clue there for the experienced eye to see; he wasn't a crime scene analyst for nothing, after all. But he didn't want to drag the mood down even more by bringing up the similar experiences with coffins that had prompted her first call, or the strange scars he'd mapped with his fingers six nights ago, or the heavy, clanking box she'd been so touchy about in her hotel room.

Buffy swallowed, and her expression softened further as she stared back at him. "Wow," she said. "I-- I guess I thought you'd be a little more-- I don't know--"

"Skeptical? Demanding?" He grinned affectionately at her as she bit her lip and looked down, self-consciously. "I do work in a crime lab, you know," he continued, "and I used to be a cop; I like to think I'm good at my job, and we're trained to look under the surface of things...."

She rallied a little at that, interjecting a wry comment: "Like Andrew says, underneath the underneath?"

Nick chuckled. "With fewer ninja, but yeah, like that. And in my professional judgment, you're a genuinely good person, over and above your obvious qualifications as a friend and significant other." It couldn't hurt to add a little flattery; especially since it was true, every word of it.

"Obvious, huh?" Buffy asked, shifting her seat from the couch to the coffee table and sliding forward until she could plant her tiny feet firmly between his larger ones on the carpet in front of him. She took his clasped hands between hers, looking deeply into his eyes; then she smiled, though it was a sadder smile than he'd been hoping for.

"_Very_ obvious," he replied, bending forward to capture her lips in a lingering kiss.

"I don't deserve you, you know," she said warmly after he pulled back again. "Seriously, though, I stopped by today so I could finally fill you in, not so you could talk me out of it. I'm almost afraid you'll find what I actually do kind of a letdown after this, though! And that's if you even believe me in the first place."

"Why wouldn't I believe you?" Nick asked. He was starting to get the impression he was not so much confronting her directly in this conversation, as fighting against the ghosts of boyfriends past who'd taken the whole thing much less supportively, and that was not a place he wanted to spend much time in. "I'm not your enemy here, Buffy," he drawled. "I'm already on your side. You've been pretty damn understanding about my job; why should I be any less understanding about yours?"

"Even if it sounds crazy?" she asked, plaintively.

"Even if," he repeated, firmly.

"You'd better be right," she said, wistfully, then straightened up and began her story. "It starts kind of like this: 'The world is much older than you know'...."

* * *

What felt like hours later, but was probably much less, Nick let the silence settle as he thought about what she'd said to him. She'd been right, it _did_ sound crazy. More than crazy; certifiable. And yet....

On the one hand, half the things she talked about were straight out of horror novels; it was all a little too Brothers Grimm and Laurel K. Hamilton for him. But on the other, well. In a strange way, it made a lot of sense out of a few of the stranger things he'd seen in his day, and not just in Vegas. He'd been on the force back home for three years before he'd transferred to CSI, and a few of the cases he'd investigated there would set a lot better with him if the perpetrators had been a little less than human. The slaughter at the Gorch wedding back in '98, for instance. And there was always that green guy with horns over at the Tropicana whose makeup seemed a little too perfect for anyone not on the set of a movie....

They'd shifted a little, over the course of her revelations, until Buffy's feet were braced on either side of Nick's lap and his hands wrapped around hers rather than the other way around; he stroked his thumbs across the backs of her wrists as he considered all the new information. "And you said the government knows about all this?" he had to ask.

She nodded solemnly, blonde hair sweeping over her shoulders. "You were right about that part; they _do_ have it classified way above your pay grade. They played with fire, and got burned; they pretty much leave everything to us now except for a few wandering teams of demon hunters."

"And 'us' is a multinational corporation staffed by superwomen and librarians whose goals in life are to stop the world from ending and save as many people as they can from getting eaten," he continued, summing up the most important points-- aside from the litany of tragedy she seemed to have personally suffered over the last decade-- that he'd gleaned from her speech.

Buffy winced a little at the way it sounded, but nodded again, solemnly, her body language tense as she waited for his final reaction.

Nick drew a deep breath, still weighing things in his mind, then let it out and made his decision. "Okay."

"..._Okay?_" she echoed him, uncertainly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, okay, I believe you," Nick said. "Not that it doesn't worry me, and not that I don't expect you to take me out patrolling on one of my off days so I can see for myself, but, okay. I doubt you'd make up a lie that complicated and unbelievable just for some kind of cover, and I've known you long enough to know you're not that out of touch with reality, so the only other alternative is that you're telling the truth. And I know how weird the truth can get; I've found scuba divers in trees, drowning victims in the desert-- what's a little supernatural weirdness on top of that?

"Besides," he continued on a less solemn note. "I'm not about to throw away whatever chance we might have together over something I'd already decided was a non-issue. You help people. So do I. End of story."

"But not the end of our story?" Buffy said quietly, eyes shining.

"Hell no, girl," he replied, tugging her into his lap. "You think I'd let you go that easy?"

He'd never regretted the choice he'd make to pick up the phone and return that first call; and it would take more than one surreal conversation to change that. Hell, even if it _had_ all been a crazy cover story, it still didn't matter; whatever her past had been like, she'd clearly been burned badly by it, and had expected his reaction to be one more disappointment.

Well, he was going to prove her wrong. She'd been a light for him in a dark place a year ago, and a supportive friend during the long aftermath, and she'd never, even when they began dating, asked him what kind of car he drove. So he'd make sure not to check his brain at the door when she showed him the proof later on; and in the meanwhile, offer her as much support as she'd given him.

Not that that was a hardship, or anything, he thought, sliding his arms around her as she leaned in for another kiss.

-x-


	6. A Perfect Dinner

**Title**: A Perfect Dinner

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: B:tVS, CSI. _"Ah, I get it," Nick said. "A soft-ball introduction to Scooby holidays, for the new guy."_ 4200 words.

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. All your Buffy are belong to Joss Whedon and your CSI to CBS and Anthony E. Zuiker.

**Spoilers**: B:tVS post-"Chosen"; CSI vaguely post-Season 6.

**Notes**: For jerseyfabulous, who requested B:tVS/CSI with Buffy/Nick. Again. A bit on the fluffy side. Also contains Willow/Kennedy and bonus Xander; sorry/yay?

* * *

_"Getting to know someone is like investigating a crime scene where the culprit is constantly allowed to rearrange the evidence."_  
~Adnan Mithani

* * *

Moving from a long-term bachelor lifestyle into the overlapping realm of a committed relationship would have been a rocky road under the best of circumstances. It was made doubly difficult when one of the parties worked with the police in the second-ranked crime lab in the country and the other was what might be euphemistically called an 'international troubleshooter'. Hours stolen together were far outnumbered by the hours they spent apart.

Nick understood. He'd done the serious boyfriend dance before, if not recently; and he would no more ask _her_ to shift her job description and settle down in Vegas than she would ever ask him to turn in his gun and badge and join her demon hunters. They were who they were, and that was that. Still, it got frustrating at times.

They'd been dating- actually dating, not the careful courtship they'd built with letters and phone calls over the year after his kidnapping and temporary burial- for over two months before Buffy ever spent a night under his roof. She'd walked out of the bathroom with a smile lurking at the corners of her mouth and his still-packaged spare toothbrush in hand to tease him: "Plan ahead, much?" Only he hadn't laughed. He'd bought it for the weekend she'd had to skip for an emergency trip five weeks before, and laid it out during the weekend he'd had to postpone for a grueling case two weeks after _that_.

He knew she didn't take their relationship lightly; knew she'd been wounded badly in the past. He _got_ that. Nick was most of a decade older than she was, and his life hadn't been all apple pie and roses either, despite his comparatively privileged childhood. They had both independently developed defense mechanisms that would take time to overcome; and he fully believed she was worth the time it would take to break them down. He'd just thought they'd made progress before that; he'd expected her taking the chance on telling him about her _real_ job, and him taking the whole bizarre story in stride, should have moved them _forward_, rather than back.

Just went to show, though. No matter how understanding you tried to be, no one could ever know where all the landmines were ahead of time. He'd made the mistake of asking to go along on a 'hunt' with her the morning after the explanation, and she'd bristled up like a porcupine under threat. He hadn't seen Buffy or heard her voice again for sixteen days, though at least she'd still kept responding to his emails and texts. It had taken that long to convince her he wasn't actually looking to throw himself into the line of fire, for adrenaline or curiosity or whatever other burr had got stuck under her saddle. Fighting ghosts again, he had figured. He'd just wanted to know enough to stay safe, and her apparent conviction that he needed to be wrapped up in cotton wool by a knight in shiny leather boots had rankled more than a little.

Still. Water, bridge. Nick had climbed down off the high horse of his manhood eventually, and she'd relaxed enough to take him to meet that green guy at the Tropicana, a friend of a friend named Lorne.

_That_ had been something else. The vampire she'd staked in an alleyway off the Strip afterward had made a much more serious impression than it might have otherwise; meeting a close-up example of the supernatural that could in no way be explained by a strange disease or special training or tricks of the light had banished the last of his doubts, along with any hope of assigning the encounter to a 'gang member on PCP' or 'special effects'. He could see why it was so hard to get people to believe, though, considering how many fakes he'd come across in the course of his job; and why those who _did_ believe often got themselves killed, underestimating the realities of their expanded world.

"Slayer comma the," she'd said over the settling ash-cloud, with a rueful shrug at his shaken expression. "A fight like this is like the boring triplicate paperwork of _my_ day job."

He hadn't needed her to elaborate. "I got you," Nick had replied. "Just tell me what to look for if I come across a victim of something supernatural, and what to do besides 'run' if I ever trip across one of these things at a crime scene, and we'll call it good."

Buffy had agreed with a grateful smile.

Four months in, she'd finally stayed over long enough for a proper introduction to his co-workers; as much as she lived her job, he did his, and they were closest friends he had in Vegas. Griss and Sara hadn't quite known what to make of her- though they'd seemed more surprised by the California cheerleader stamp on her personality than by the age difference- but they'd warmed up to her by the end of the meal, once she proved she wasn't as brainless as she looked. She'd also spent awhile chatting with Catherine about fashion, and Greg about music, and she'd had a fun time trying to pry confidential gossip out of Warrick after he'd had congratulated her on getting Nick to shave off the mustache, so all in all he'd thought it had gone rather well.

She still hadn't introduced him to _her_ friends though; just her sister, Dawn. Not until now.

He sat awkwardly on the couch in the living room of a two-story house in Cleveland, watching from a safe distance while his girlfriend bustled manically around in the kitchen.

"Is this- _normal_, for her?" Nick asked hesitantly, eyeing the man with the eyepatch seated in the chair across from him.

"First holiday together since you started dating, huh?" Xander chuckled at him. "Yeah, I'm afraid so. We're usually not all in the same place at the same time for the holidays these days, but when we are, she kinda goes overboard. It started back her first year of college, when her Mom went out of town for Thanksgiving weekend and she decided to throw the rest of us a perfect dinner to make up for it."

Something in his tone of voice, or maybe the mischievous light in his eye, made Nick wary. "And was it? Perfect, I mean?" he asked.

Xander snorted and threw a glance over his shoulder at the blonde-maned whirlwind currently darting between the counter and the open oven. "Not for lack of trying. Did I mention that we're usually not all in the same place at the same time for the holidays anymore? Or birthdays, for that matter. It's because holiday plus Scooby Gang has a bad habit of equaling trouble."

Nick grimaced. He _had_ heard at least a couple of celebration-related horror stories. "And I guess it makes sense that Halloween would count for a major holiday for you guys, considering."

"You'd think so, but actually, no," Xander said, leaning forward a little and lowering his voice. "Actually, I think that's why Buffy risked it this time. It's the one night of the year when vampires and so on traditionally lay low. Most of the trouble we've run into on Halloweens past has been human caused. So even if something _does_ go wrong..."

"Ah, I get it," Nick tipped his chin at him. "A soft-ball introduction to Scooby holidays, for the new guy."

"Exactly," Xander nodded to him, looking pleased. "You catch on quick."

"I should hope so," Nick said wryly, amused by the friendly display of dominance. "Considering it's my job to put clues together for a living."

"You've got a point there," Xander agreed, then looked up as the front door opened and another of Buffy's friends darted inside, clutching an umbrella against the rainy weather. He caught a glimpse of red hair as the umbrella was lowered, and lively green eyes as she turned to shake the rain off and drop it in the stand in the entryway; she could only be Willow Rosenberg.

Nick got to his feet as she came in, prepared to do the polite introductory thing. But "Hello, I'm-" was as much as he got out, before her eyes lit up and she favored him with a brilliant smile.

"You must be Nick!" she said brightly, and advanced on him with open arms. "Buffy's told us so much about you!"

Nick accepted the friendly hug with good humor, gingerly embracing her as he might have one of his sisters' friends. "And you must be Willow," he said. "All good, I hope?"

"Of course I'm all good!" she said, sounding a bit surprised as she drew back- then blinked and blushed nearly bright enough to rival her hair. "I mean- of course she's said good things about you. Lots of good things. Pretty much every time I talk to her these days."

"And you as well," Nick replied, bemused by the babble. He couldn't help but throw a quick glance at Xander- and found only a fond smile on his face, so clearly this was normal behavior from her.

"Oh. Good!" Willow continued, smiling. "I've been kinda worried she thought you might not like us; I think this is the longest she's ever gone without introducing us to a boyfriend."

"Except the Immortal," Xander interjected as he stood to claim his own hug.

"Except he doesn't count," Willow fired back, with an apologetic glance toward Nick. "She was dating him mostly for information, remember? They weren't ever all that serious."

"If you say so," Xander sniffed. "After we found out he used to be a rival of Angel's _and_ Spike's, I was sure he was going to join the ranks of Bad Boys past there for awhile."

Nick suspected if he let them keep going, he might end up completely forgotten in the course of an obviously old and familiar argument, and raised his hand to catch their attention. "Excuse me, when you say Immortal, do you mean-"

"Someone who doesn't ever get old?" Willow nodded. "He could still be killed if you knew the right way to do it, but the Watchers' journals say he was already old when the Master took over the Clan of Aurelius, and that was more than four hundred years ago. And he certainly doesn't look his age, I mean, he's still all suave and 'let me kiss your hand, Bella', so I'm not sure if it's a magic thing or if he's just from some kind of extremely long-lived demon species that looks a lot like humans?"

Nick blinked at the influx of information, digesting it for pertinence. He was inexplicably reminded of Greg, and wondered what would happen when the two were introduced.

"Wait- is this that guy she wrote about in Rome last year? The shallow rich guy?" She'd never said much about him beyond a brief reference to identify the third person in a few pictures with her and Dawn; he was starting to get an idea why. 'Suave' pretty much covered it. He wondered if retroactive jealousy was pathetic, and resolved to go back and take a better look at those pictures later.

"That'd be the one," Xander nodded. Then he leaned over toward Willow again, ostentatiously shielding his hand as he added in a loud whisper: "Ix-nay on the emons-day, Wills. This is one we _don't_ want to scare off, remember?"

Nick had to chuckle a little as her eyes widened, and hastened to reassure her. "Don't worry, I don't scare off that easily. I'm still pretty new to the supernatural scene, but trust me, after ten years in law enforcement, more than half of that in Vegas? I guarantee you I've seen things that even _you_ wouldn't believe."

Xander looked intrigued at that, but before the conversation could continue, Buffy finally noticed Willow's arrival and hurried over from the kitchen in a clatter of boot heels and flutter of apron.

"Willow, you're here!" she exclaimed, embracing her friend.

"Hey, Buffy- oogh. I see you've been cooking?" Willow replied, brightly.

"Oops! Sorry." Buffy pulled back, sheepishly looking down at flour-smirched hands and apron, and the white transfer marks left behind on her friend's bright sweater. "I forgot! I think that was from the pie crust; I got a new pumpkin recipe from my aunt this year."

"Andrew's not doing dessert this time?" Willow brushed absently at the flour, but didn't seem too upset.

"Nope; I talked him into doing sides, so be prepared for some creative challenges to the taste buds. He'll be here in half an hour or so. Hey, speaking of arrivals. Where's Ken?"

"Right behind me. She was parking the car- there she is."

A tender smile spread over the redhead's face as the door opened again; a slightly younger woman with long dark hair, a pretty face, and very confident bearing returned the smile as she shook the rain from her own umbrella outside, then came in and shut the door behind her. She had a duffel over one shoulder, which she dropped next to the umbrella stand as she entered.

"Kennedy, glad you could make it," Buffy said, friendly-polite if not very warm; some not so pleasant history there, Nick guessed, buried for her friend's sake.

"Been looking forward to it," Kennedy replied just as coolly, then turned inquisitive dark eyes to Nick. "Is this the new boyfriend?"

Buffy's smile widened as she turned to him. It was nearly as bright as the one Willow had favored her partner with, and he stepped forward, pulled toward her as he'd been ever since their first meeting. Just that easily, he felt anchored again.

"Yes. Kennedy, this is Nick Stokes. Nick, Willow Rosenberg, and Willow's girlfriend, Kennedy Iyari."

"Fiancée, actually," Kennedy smiled, holding out a hand for him to shake.

From the way her eyes brightened as she said it, he guessed the status was new. "Congratulations," he told her, trading firm grips.

"Fiancée?" Buffy squealed, and threw her arms around Willow again, flour and all. Definitely new.

"Way to go, Wills!" Xander said, stretching his arms around both women, genuine pleasure in his voice. Then he reached out to beckon Kennedy into the group hug as soon as she let go of Nick's hand. "C'mon, get over here; you're one of my girls too, now."

She laughed and rolled her eyes a little, but allowed it; and after a moment all four of them broke apart again, eyes suspiciously bright.

"When? Where? I know it's not legal in Ohio," Buffy said. "Oooh, and tell me you're going to pick prettier bridesmaid's dresses than Anya did!"

"I asked her last week; we'll register sometime next year; and back in São Paolo, though we'll probably do a handfasting ceremony here first in the spring," Willow beamed. "We'll talk wardrobe for that later, but don't worry, no burlap _or_ broccoli green satin. Did you know that if you invest enough money in a company in Brazil, you can get residency status instead of visas? The Council House there just put us over that threshold. And they don't _call_ it marriage, but they have this civil union thing that has basically the exact same rights, so..."

"Way to maximize opportunity," Buffy said. "You guys planning on staying there long-term, then?"

"For now, anyway," Willow shrugged. "I mean, emergencies and holidays, we're so here, but we're doing good work there, and we're even getting pretty conversational in Portuguese."

"Whatever makes you happy," Buffy smiled at her, then nodded at Kennedy again, all traces of the earlier coolness gone. "Seriously, you guys. You deserve it. Oooh! Have you told Giles yet?"

"When he gets here," Willow laughed. "I want to see his reaction in person."

Xander chuckled. "Don't get many opportunities to make him polish his glasses these days, huh," he said, an apparently random reference that gave Nick some confused mental images.

Kennedy rolled her eyes, but she still looked pleased by the general air of acceptance. "_Anyway_," she said, reaching to lift her duffel bag again. "Since we're staying the night, we thought we'd go ahead and get settled before dinner?" She reached her free hand toward Willow.

Willow took it, interlacing their fingers together. "See you guys in a few," she said cheerfully, following Kennedy up the hall stairs to the bedrooms on the second level. "Nice to meet you, Nick!"

"Nice to meet you, too!" Nick lifted his hand in a belated wave as they disappeared into the upstairs hall.

"Wow," Xander said, lowly, staring after them. "Just- wow."

Buffy shook her head wonderingly. "I _know_," she said. "But- they're so _happy_."

"Light at the end of the tunnel, huh?" Xander gave her a sympathetic look, full of meaning Nick couldn't even begin to pick apart.

She smiled sadly and gave him a floury pat to the shoulder, then finally turned back to Nick. "Sorry again about abandoning you in here. The cooking's almost done, I swear!"

"No, no, it's fine." Nick edged closer, carefully threading his arms around her to avoid most of the floury spots on her apron, and leaned down for a quick peck on the lips. Then he pulled back, licking at the spicy flavor that must have transferred from testing spoons. "Tastes like something worth waiting for," he said, the words acquiring unexpected weight as he spoke them.

Buffy blushed brightly, and hardly seemed to know what to say next. "I... Nick!"

He took pity on them both and turned her around with a teasing swat. "Go on, shoo; the sooner it's done, the sooner we can eat."

He wasn't about to connect the dots with the previous conversation out loud, not so soon; but maybe getting the concept out there where they could both get used to it wasn't such a bad idea.

She yelped a little at the swat, and threw him an indecipherable look over her shoulder, before muttering something he couldn't quite make out about 'cookies' and bolting back toward the oven. A timer started beeping just as she arrived, and she busied herself shuffling things around again- leaving he and Xander once again in the living room, alone.

He found the one-eyed man staring at him with an unexpectedly serious expression.

"You okay there, man?" Nick asked him, warily.

Xander nodded slowly. "You make _her_ happy," he said. Then he lifted a finger and pointed it melodramatically in Nick's direction. "But keep in mind, I have a shovel and I'm prepared to use it."

Nick winced at the mental image, though he felt as pleased as Kennedy had looked earlier at the implied approval. "Been there, investigated that, and plan to skip the t-shirt, thanks," he said. "Seriously, though. She makes _me_ happy. That woman could bend me into a pretzel if she wants to; and she's decided she wants _me_? I'm hers."

"Good." Xander dropped the exaggerated 'Uncle Sam wants you' pose and settled back into the chair he'd chosen earlier, shedding the intensity like water off a duck. "Now, where were we?"

Nick blinked as he resettled himself on the couch, and carefully rewound the conversation in his mind. What _had_ they been talking about before the girls came in? Something about not being easily scared off? Which was pretty much the same conversation they were having _now_, except- "I've seen things you'd have trouble believing?" he prompted the other man.

Xander considered that, thoughtfully. "You deal with the humans that go bump in the night, and we try to pick up the rest," he said. "Yeah, I can believe there's at least as much scary on your side of the line as on ours. Maybe more, considering; it's worse when the face of evil looks just like your own."

"Sounds like you speak from experience, there," Nick probed, cautiously.

"Literally _and_ figuratively," Xander replied with a forced chuckle. "So, how do you deal with it?"

"Deal with...?" Nick wasn't sure what he was getting at.

"Everything." Xander made an expansive gesture. "You said you've been doing your job for ten years, right? Well, so have we, more or less. Different enemies, but just as much trauma, I'd guess. No, I _know_; I heard about that first call you got from Buffy. So. How do you deal with it? Because I should warn you, we mostly go with repression and bad jokes. Buffy included, though you probably already know that by now."

Ten years. Nick blinked at that; he'd known it intellectually, but the confirmation still caught him off guard. They'd barely been teenagers when the job had found them; he'd at least managed to get through all his schooling and training before choosing the life of a cop with open eyes. It was a wonder they were all as sane as they were, actually; none of them had anything like the education or support structure anyone with a badge could expect, and even that, as he could attest, often fell short.

He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket with a wry smile, and tugged out the police psychiatrist card to show Xander. "Mandatory counseling, man," he said. "Repression and bad jokes help too; but the talking thing actually does work, if you let it. Buffy could tell you, I vented a lot to her last year."

"Huh," Xander said, idly fingering the card before returning it. "I wonder if Giles would approve a counselor on the Council payroll? We're kind of set in our ways by now, but I've been worried about some of the younger girls."

"Y'all are welcome to ask any kind of questions you need to about that," Nick told him. Experienced at the job or not, Buffy had admitted they were all kind of new at being in charge. This Giles- the one constant adult in their group, from what he'd gathered- might know a little about what he was doing, but the rest of them wouldn't, and even he probably wasn't used to running so _many_ subordinate teams at the same time. "Or ask my boss; I haven't told Griss anything about Buffy's real job, but the man's been around, and I know he started out as a coroner in L.A. Bet you anything you like he already knows, and he's got a lot more experience at the human resource management thing in this kind of high-pressure environment than I do."

Xander nodded thoughtfully. "Might have to get back to you on that," he said.

Nick nodded, and put his wallet away again. Sometime in the last few minutes, he'd stopped seeing just how young Xander was and started seeing him as an experiential equal; he'd already felt that way about Buffy, but he wasn't feeling quite as fish-out-of-water with the rest as he had when he'd first walked in the door, and some tight, nervous worry that had knotted itself between his shoulderblades relaxed a little at that realization. Yeah, they could do this; they really could fit into each other's worlds.

It still wrong-footed him a little that he seemed more prepared to think long-term than Buffy was, but the last hour or so had made him feel a lot more optimistic about their chances of building something lasting. At least, once he convinced her to stop flinching at ghosts.

Speaking of whom. Something slammed in the kitchen, and Buffy reappeared, smiling brightly at him as she stripped off the apron. "All done," she said, walking down the entry hall to join them in the living room. "You boys done bonding yet?"

Xander got to his feet again and replied with a smirk. "Still have Giles' appraisal to get through, but I'm pretty sure he'll earn the Scooby seal of approval. Good going, Buff. And don't wait so long next time, okay? At this rate, your kids will be starting preschool before we get the birth announcements."

She flushed red again, an entertainingly cute display, and lashed out at him with the tail of the apron she still held. "Xander!"

Her friend yelped as it snapped loudly against his thigh, then laughed and scooted toward the front door. "Going, going! I'll just wait for Giles and Andrew; they should be here anytime."

"You do that," Buffy mock-scowled as he edged through. Outside, the rain had nearly stopped; a breath of damp, chill air washed briefly over both of them as the door swung shut again, and Nick felt his nerves come alive in its wake.

"So," he said, stepping closer and brushing his fingers against a smear of batter on her chin. "This is what holidays are like around here, huh?"

"Oh, don't even." She shuddered a little under his touch, tipping her chin up as her eyes fluttered shut. "Whatever Xander said, it's usually ten times worse. So far, this is pretty tame in comparison."

"So far," Nick replied softly, stroking his thumb over her slightly parted lips.

She shivered again, then opened her eyes and gave him a look hotter than the oven she'd just finished slaving over. "We'll see about that," she said.

He chuckled, warmed clear through. "I think I'm going to handle your kind of holidays just fine."

-x-


End file.
